


dance with me

by fluffysfics



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Dancing, F/M, Fluff, Gender Dysphoria, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Nonbinary Doctor, no time lords are cis
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-04
Updated: 2020-12-04
Packaged: 2021-03-09 20:21:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,448
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27882174
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fluffysfics/pseuds/fluffysfics
Summary: The Doctor has done her best to avoid thinking about gender too much this time around. Trust the Master to go bringing it up without any warning.
Relationships: Thirteenth Doctor/The Master (Dhawan)
Comments: 6
Kudos: 81





	dance with me

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ThoughtsCascade](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThoughtsCascade/gifts), [Raindropsonwhiskers](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Raindropsonwhiskers/gifts).



> many thanks to Rain and Jay for giving me the prompts that inspired this fic, and also happy birthday Jay! happy........birthjay?

“I wonder if you’re going to copy me again, next time you regenerate.” 

Upon hearing this, the Doctor nearly jumped out of her skin, bashing her head on the underside of the multi-toaster, automatically moving... _thing_ , that she’d been building. She snatched up a cloth that was only slightly covered in oil, pressing it to the stinging spot on her forehead, and scrambled out from underneath her project. She could have _sworn_ she was alone in here. 

“When did you get here? And- what?” 

The Master looked her up and down, a smile twitching at the corner of his lips. He’d perched himself on a nearby workbench, legs up on the back of a chair in a way that made him look vaguely like a pinup girl from an old Earth poster. Or maybe he didn’t actually look like that at all, and the Doctor had just managed to give herself a concussion when he’d surprised her. 

“You look a bit of a mess, my dear Doctor.” 

Stopping in her tracks, the Doctor looked down at herself. She had an apron on, but apart from that, just about every inch of her skin was smeared with oil, or pencil smudges, or tiny metal filings. Those, she somewhat sheepishly tried to brush off, which only smeared the oil around even more. 

“Hazards of workin’ with...” She trailed off, and jerked her thumb back at the device she’d been building. The Master raised an eyebrow. 

“What’s it supposed to be?” 

The Doctor shrugged. And then she remembered that she’d asked him questions. “Oi. I get all suspicious when you don’t answer me.” She pointed a spanner at him as menacingly as she could, which might have been more effective if the spanner hadn’t been two inches long. 

“Fine.” The Master snorted. “I got here ten minutes ago, and you didn’t notice, because you were busy grumbling at your...abomination.” He gestured to the machine. “Something about toast vortices, I think you said. And so I watched for a bit, ‘cause you’re funny. And then I asked you if you were going to copy me again, when you next regenerated.” 

Bemused, the Doctor flipped up her goggles, tucking her spanner and the oil-soaked cloth into a pocket. She wandered over to the workbench, indelicately shoving the Master’s feet off of the chair so that she could sit down. He pouted. 

“I heard what you said.” She leaned back in the chair, folding her arms. “Just not clear on the _what you meant_.” 

The Master gave her a Look, and swung his legs back up to rest on the back of the chair, one on either side of her head. She resisted the urge to bite his ankles, but only just. 

“Well. You might stay short next time. Or be really good at growing beards. Or not be white for once. All of those could be considered copying me.” He drummed his fingers on the workbench. “You’re still looking confused, Doctor.” 

Was she? Hm. A quick, not-so-subtle prod of her own face confirmed that yes, she probably was, and she hastily schooled her expression into something more befitting. Indignation ought to do it. “I got that part,” she insisted. “I just don’t know what you mean by _copying you_. When did I go and do that?” She didn’t look anything like Missy. Wrong hair colour, wrong eye colour, wrong accent. And she was at _least_ a couple of inches taller. Even if she’d really have preferred a few more. 

The Master gave her another look, this time one that suggested he’d just seen her do something stupid, like lick the engine oil on her arm. Even if engine oil did taste kind of good, if she was in the right mood for it. The Doctor gave up on resisting the temptation to bite his ankles, and he yelped, hastily retreating to a safe distance. She smirked at him. 

“C’mon, Kosch. Far as I’m concerned, you’re talking nonsense. How’d I go and copy you?” 

“You’re really missing the obvious here.” He looked her up and down, as if expecting that to prompt a realisation. It did not. “Oh, for- you’re a _woman_ , Theta. That’s what I meant. You stole my gender.” 

For several seconds, the Doctor stared at him. That still wasn’t quite clicking. The thought of her and Missy being the same gender was utterly unfathomable. 

“Did I...?” She tilted her head at him, like a particularly confused baby owl. 

“Are you saying you’re _not_ a woman? Because I’ve seen you naked, dear, and you certainly look like one.” 

“That’s very Earth-y of you,” the Doctor accused. “And not even one of the good Earth periods. One of the bad ones, when they’re still all...hung up on genitalia. Weird, that.” 

“Okay, fair point, forget I said that,” the Master conceded. He tried to swing his legs back up on the chair, and she snapped at him again. The legs retreated. “But are you saying you’re not a woman?” 

“Are you saying you _were_?” That, she was aware, was a textbook case of ‘avoiding the question’. But that was her speciality in this body, when it came to things that she didn’t want to poke with too many sticks. 

“Yes, mostly.” The Master frowned. “What, didn’t you hear me calling myself a Time Lady at every opportunity?” He pitched his voice up an octave and put on a terrible Scottish accent. “ _Some of us can afford the upgrade_.” 

“Just not you. Or at least, the upgrade didn’t take very well,” the Doctor teased, grinning. 

“You’re not answering me,” the Master said, probably to avoid further ribbing. And even though she was well aware that she was doing exactly that, it still stung a bit to be called out. 

She folded her arms across her chest, and shrugged, pointedly looking at the ceiling and not at him. “Fine. Don’t think I am a woman. Not really. Not like Yaz, or Clara, or Amy. Definitely not like River.” She missed River, actually. Privately, the Doctor wondered whether the Master would get along with her. That could be fun. And she definitely wasn’t thinking about that just to avoid thinking about gender even more. 

The Master’s gaze softened a little. He leaned forwards, brushing a stray lock of hair out of her face and tucking it behind her ear. She avoided his eyes, which probably wasn’t very fair, but this was an awkward topic. And he was _him_ , which meant that the next thing out of his mouth was just as likely to be laughter as it was anything actually insightful. 

“...Dance with me, Theta.” 

She blinked. “What?”

“Dance with me.” The Master slid off of the table, offering her his hand. “And you can lead. Please be better at it than you were when we were eighty, though.” 

_That_ got a small grin out of the Doctor. She had fond memories of those times, reading about old Earth dances from a book she’d found stuffed in a corner of the Academy library, and dragging young Koschei around his bedroom in the universe’s least coordinated waltz. 

“Makin’ no promises about that,” she said, getting to her feet. Right. One hand on the Master’s waist, and the other hand laced with his. That was easy enough. 

What was _less_ easy was resisting the urge to kick him in the shin when he snuck his free hand down and tried to move her hand onto his arse. 

“Save that for the bedroom,” the Doctor warned him, stealing a quick kiss that ended in a perhaps-slightly-rougher-than-necessary lip bite just to get her point across as firmly as possible. “Also. Hey. We don’t have any music.” 

The Master kissed her again, and then tipped his head back, casting one of his more charming grins up at the TARDIS ceiling. “ _Pretty_ please grace us with some nice music?” 

She felt an impulse from her TARDIS that gave off a distinct sense of ‘oh, _fine_ , but only because it’ll make my pilot happy’. But that was okay. At least the Master was asking for things politely, and no longer swearing at the TARDIS when she played harmless jokes on him, like hiding the toilets for a whole day. Honestly, that was basic stuff. At least she hadn’t pulled out the shark pit. The Doctor might feel bad for poor Adam about that, but he’d turned out pretty nasty in the end, so that memory was squared away safely in the guilt-free portion of her mind. 

A soft, slow waltz started up, snapping her out of her thoughts, and it took the Doctor a couple of seconds to remember that she should be leading. “Right. Um...” She trailed off, taking a careful step, pleased to see the Master mirroring it. He really was content to follow, it seemed, and not just cause trouble for her as soon as she started to play along with his idea. That was...nice. She really needed to get used to him being nice. 

It was not the most graceful of dances. She was still smeared with oil and wearing a filthy apron, and the floor was covered in random scrap parts that they both kept having to sidestep or kick away. It had been a long time since the Doctor had danced, and she was pretty sure that the same applied to the Master. 

But graceful or not, it was a dance. And he didn’t even once try to take the lead. After a few minutes, he rested his head on the Doctor’s shoulder, softly humming along to the song playing overhead, and her hearts skipped what felt like at least two beats each. 

She smiled, gently squeezing his hand. She couldn’t say how or why, but somehow, this was helping with the discomfort that had been lingering in her chest throughout their conversation. It was hard to worry about what her body looked like, how people perceived her, the _expectations_ they placed on her, when she had the Master in her arms. He was even smiling; a small, soft, _genuine_ smile- those were like gold dust to her. Had they not been mid-waltz, she would have insisted on being allowed to take a photo. Or perhaps she simply would have kissed him until they were both dizzy from the passion of it. 

With a final few steps and a slow, dreamy twirl, the song came to an end. As it did, the Doctor stood where she was for a minute, her hand slipping up from the Master’s waist to rest on his back. This moment felt precious; she didn’t want to waste it. 

For a few more blissful seconds, he complied. And then he kissed her briefly on the neck before lifting his head, gazing softly over at her. They were similar heights this time around, and with the chunkier heel on the Doctor’s boots, they ended up almost exactly the same, which meant that the Master could look right into her eyes, and she could look into his. 

He had _beautiful_ eyes this time around. They were always striking, but this body had really outdone all of his previous ones. His eyes were huge, and dark, and gazing into them felt like coming home. Inexplicably comforting, full of warmth and safety and a soft yearning for _affection_. She didn’t feel that with anyone else, this go. 

When he kissed her, it was all too easy to let her eyes slip shut and melt into it. The Doctor let go of his hand, draping both of her arms around his shoulders instead, feeling his curl around her waist. 

His lips were as warm and soft as his eyes. Really, the Master was the polar opposite of his last self- Missy had been so sharp; a kiss from her was all too likely to end in biting. This time...well, he still bit her sometimes. But not right now. Now, the Master was gentle and yielding, giving in to whatever _she_ wanted. And she kissed him hungrily, taking full advantage of his current willingness to submit until they were both breathless and flushed. 

The Doctor pulled away with a grin already on her lips. She rested her forehead against his, laughing, then dipped to steal another quick kiss. 

“You really are a work of art, Theta,” the Master said fondly. 

“I think the expression’s _a piece of work_ , actually,” she teased. 

“Oh, you’re certainly that too,” he purred. “But you’re both. Look at you. Look at those lovely eyes. That smile. You could light up a whole galaxy with that smile. You’re so _handsome_.” 

_That_ hadn’t been the compliment she’d been expecting him to end on. The Doctor looked at him in surprise, feeling her face heat up a little. “Koschei, that’s...” She trailed off, not quite sure how to describe the light, giddy feeling that word set off in her chest. 

“Good?” He tilted his head hopefully. 

“Yes. _Yes_ , good,” she promised him, nodding so firmly that her hair fell into her face. She shook it away again, just in time to see the Master’s face light up. She closed her eyes, touching her mind to his and sending him a warm burst of affection. He deserved it. 

“Oh...that’s... _mm_. I love you,” he said, voice barely above a whisper. “No matter what gender you are, by the way. Male, or female, or both, or neither, or...not.” He reached out to her as well, more of his mind tangling with hers. 

The Doctor didn’t respond verbally, because she’d never been good at things like that. But she did kiss him, and she sent him a dizzyingly strong wave of her feelings for him that probably would have knocked most people over. He took it in stride, humming delightedly against her lips. 

_Dance with me_ , she thought, pushing more affection towards the Master. His hands slipped back into position at the same time as hers, his head nestling back against her shoulder. 

They started to twirl around the room again, moved by no music, by nothing except a joint sense of rhythm and the utter synchronicity that came from sharing their minds. It was easy, it was beautiful, it was _precious_. 

It was remarkable, really, the effect that the Master had on her. How quickly a day could turn from just _fine_ , to painfully uncomfortable, to the warmest happiness she’d felt in weeks. 

The Doctor held him a little closer, and continued to spin him around the room. For once, it was all too easy to ignore the pressures of the universe, and to simply be exactly what and who _she_ wanted to be. 

**Author's Note:**

> hope you enjoyed! comments and kudos are very very much appreciated <3


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